


For No Reason At All

by cathouse_mary



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 09:20:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18568453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathouse_mary/pseuds/cathouse_mary
Summary: Found these as I was going through old hard drives and uploaded via the Wayback Machine.





	For No Reason At All

**Author's Note:**

> Found these as I was going through old hard drives and uploaded via the Wayback Machine.

 

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The Snape / Hagrid archive

**Sweet & Sour**  
  
**For No Reason At All** **| by Chaos_Rose |[Please send feedback](http://web.archive.org/web/20070812084441/mailto:chaos_rose@livejournal.com)**  
  

Severus is not given to making overtures of any kind, but he watches Hagrid with deep disquiet. Few here understand what any amount of time in Azkaban can do; almost none have personal experience of it. For Severus, the signs are there to see – the lack of appetite, the insomnia, the long hours of staring at nothing.  
  
Normally he would not care. It disquiets him to find that he does. Putting aside his after-dinner read, he rises grudgingly from his comfortable chair and goes irritably down the hall.  
  
In his workroom library, he finds the formulae. He needs to use up the mild euphorics before ordering more, and the simple calming draughts so popular in House medicine chests must be running low. He brews a few others – so he tells himself - strictly for practice.  
  
Hours later, he decants them, bottling and labeling – including a spell that will keep the bottle closed until the presumptive user has read the instructions. House elves come for the allotments for Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor, while Severus takes care of Slytherin's by himself.  
  
And… one other.  
  
In this basket, the bottles are larger. These are not meant to be opened by small hands; even Severus can barely fit his spread hand over the cork.  
  
There is no particular reason that he waits until after midnight to pull on his cloak and go out into the summer-tinged night air. Nor is there a reason that he slips from shadow to shadow as he makes his way along the edge of the forest, the basket of potions following him like an obedient dog at heel. He slips up to the small house, leaves the basket on the doorstep like a foundling infant.  
  
Back in his rooms, he hangs up his cloak, and takes up his interrupted reading – assuring himself that what he did, he did for no reason at all.


End file.
